Those Three Years Gone By
by Autumn Bells
Summary: What exactly happened during those three years that Sherlock was presumed dead? John never thought about it until those three years suddenly came rushing back to meet his best friend at their flat. Major Sherlock!whump! Friendship!


**_Hey, all! It's been a while! I'm just loving Sherlock again, so I had to write a fanfiction story. :) Hopefully it will be as good as the others I have written! There will be plenty of Sherlock whump and perhaps some John whump! We'll just have to see! As always, I hope to do the characters justice! Please review and enjoy!_**

**Chapter 1**

John was in a festive mood. It was nearing Christmastime in London, England and the streets were dusted with snow and ice. The trees that lined the roads were draped with multi-colored lights and large, novelty snowflakes. As the doctor walked briskly down the sidewalk, he could faintly hear Christmas carols being sung by children. This earned a beaming smile from John and he reached into his jacket's pocket and pulled out a small box that was wrapped closed with a ribbon.

It was a Christmas present for Mary. It was a beautiful bracelet that was littered with tiny diamonds. He had been saving money from cases for this very purpose and he had just enough to buy this treasure. She would love it and he would receive a kiss most certainly. Maybe something extra, as well. John grinned at himself in embarrassment for his thoughts.

The doctor approached 221B Baker Street and as he unlocked the door, the sound of violin music immediately hit his earshot. Sherlock must be entertaining Mary, he thought. Although he hated to remember it, Mary had shot the consulting detective, yet they were both very pleasant with each other.

John placed the box back into his pocket as he ascended the creaky stairs and he turned the corner to find exactly what he had imagined; Sherlock was standing up straight with closed eyes, playing the violin while Mary was sitting graciously on the chair that John had always sat in. Her hands were resting on her baby bump, but John could only see the side of her. As Sherlock finished his melody with a crescendo, Mary clapped quickly and laughed. John stood still by the doorway, frozen in time at the peacefulness.

"Fabulous, Sherlock!" Mary exclaimed. Sherlock opened his eyes and finally noticed the doctor.

"Ah, John. How was it? Did you like it?" Sherlock was like a dog begging for praises. Mary turned her head in surprise to see John.

"I've only just got here," John answered flatly, despite the overwhelming gladness he felt in his heart. His beautiful wife was glistening in her Christmas sweater and beaming a wonderful smile. John's hand tightened around the box in his pocket. He hoped to God that his wife would absolutely love it.

"John! How was your trip to the market? Did you find what you needed?" Mary asked, remaining sitting.

Sherlock locked the violin in its case and he chimed in, "The fact that he is carrying no bags, it's obvious he didn't."

John scoffed and he began to take off his jacket and sweater, "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Yes, right, well, I _did not_ find what I needed."

"And what was it that you wanted to buy?" Mary asked.

John noticed how Sherlock was hiding what looked like a smirk. The doctor's face immediately blew up in a red hue at the realization that the consulting detective knew exactly what he was hiding.

"Well, I… I uh…" John fumbled around for the right words. He couldn't remember his bloody lie!

"I had asked him to pick up more horse hairs for my violin bow."

John looked over at Sherlock, who was sipping tea slowly with his eyes closed.

"Horse hairs?" Mary parroted in shock. "Of course you couldn't find it! Did you check a music store?"

John coughed into his fist and tried his best to play along. "N-No. It didn't occur to me."

"Really, John? It didn't occur to you to go to a music store for music equipment?" Sherlock asked in a mocking tone. It was obvious he planned to milk it and John simply frowned in reply, hoping not to antagonize any more retorts.

"Anyways," John looked towards his wife, "Mary, don't you think it's time we had gone home?"

Mary held the bottom of her baby bump as she stood from the chair. "Actually, I was hoping to go back by myself. I wanted to… set up a little surprise." She smiled teasingly at John.

"Surprise?" John smiled back and moved closer to his wife, wrapping his arms around her enlarged waist. "What surprise?"

"Well, that would ruin it, don't you think?" she answered casually, rubbing her nose with his. John was intoxicated by her smell that he just had to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm from the fire. The doctor nearly forgot Sherlock was still in the room. He parted their lips rather abruptly, leaving Mary looking rather confused.

Mary regained her composure, brushing her hair down and began walking towards the door. "Sleep here tonight, John. I'll phone you some time tomorrow." And then his wife was gone.

John stared at the door that was shut behind her longingly, wishing he were going with her. He didn't realize how long he was leering at the door until Sherlock broke the silence.

"Can I see it?"

John turned towards his best friend, who was unreadable. His face was a blank slate, but his piercing blue eyes told a different story. They looked almost longing, as well. Did Sherlock miss Mary, too?

John strode towards Sherlock, reached into his pocket, and handed him the box. The consulting detective carefully unwrapped the ribbon and opened the box. He gazed at the contents within for a good minute until he closed it.

Sherlock suddenly smiled. "Let me guess. Around 300 pounds?"

John cleared his throat and glared up at Sherlock angrily.

"I'm surprised you had so much disposable income."

"I have another bank account that you don't know about," John replied proudly, shifting in his chair. Sherlock raised his eyebrow and tied the ribbon back around the box. Sherlock set the box onto the table next to John's chair and looked around.

"Don't you think it's time we decorated? It's a week until Christmas," Sherlock suggested, rubbing his chin.

"It's late and I'm exhausted. Let's decorate tomorrow. Can't have 221B bland for Christmas, can we?" John looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

"No," Sherlock replied with a straight face, but a smile lurked behind his façade. "No, we can't."

XXX

A faint thud woke John in the middle of the night. He sat up in his single bed quickly, his soldier instincts on high. He immediately jumped up from bed, opened his drawer, and retrieved his handgun. There was a good chance it was Sherlock that made that noise, but John wasn't about to get robbed because of some assumption. John slowly opened the door to the hallway, trying not to make it creak and reminding himself that it needed to be oiled.

It was dark, but his eyes adjusted so he could make out where the stairs were to the living room. He walked slowly, toes first, then heel. Foot after foot. As slow as he could. His finger was resting beside the trigger as he scaled the wall. A tall, dark figure suddenly came up beside him and he leapt back, pointing the barrel of the gun at the perpetrator.

"I reckon it's Santa Claus," the figure whispered quietly in the silence. John could make out those light blue pajamas and the pale skin. Sherlock stood up straight next to John, looking less than concerned for their safety.

"It's not Christmas yet, Sherlock," John replied quietly, removing his finger from the trigger and pointing the gun back at the floor. "I think it's a burglar."

"A burglar?" Sherlock repeated in disbelief. "What would a burglar want with our flat? We haven't got anything but the bone marrow I've placed in test tubes with hydrochloric acid. I doubt they'll want anything to do with that."

John glared at his companion. "What would _anyone _want to do with that?"

Sherlock looked offended and replied hastily, "I'll have you know, John-!"

The doctor suddenly shushed the detective in the middle of his sentence. "Quiet! I hear something."

John shuffled quietly past Sherlock until he reached the top of the stairs. Although most everything was dark, there was a flash of light and John jolted to the side, trying to hide. However, he noticed how the light flickered and moved. A flashlight.

"Kunem se, ako ste me lagao!" Came a whispered but crudely loud voice from downstairs. John couldn't recognize the language. The doctor shifted forward, trying to listen as well as he could.

"Detektiv stanuje ovde. To je sigurno," came a different voice. It seemed softer, as if being coerced. "Ne bih lagao , mladog šefe."

John was beginning to get nervous. His hand that held the gun began to sweat. What were these people saying? And why weren't they more quiet for burglars?

"John, we need to leave," Sherlock whispered, suddenly right beside the doctor. "Now."

Sherlock grabbed John's arm and loudly tread into John's room. His footsteps were far too loud and John's heart jumped in his throat when he heard the people from below.

"Čujem ga! Gore!"

"Sherlock, what the _hell_ are you doing?!" John yelled, letting the whispers go to hell. Sherlock locked the bedroom door, grabbed John's desk chair and shoved it underneath the doorknob. Then proceeded to push the desk behind the chair.

"Out the window." Sherlock walked briskly past John and began to unlatch the hinges.

"Out the…? Are you_ mad_?" John threw his arms in the air, suddenly feeling panic rise in his chest. "What's going on? Are they burglars?" The doctor got the feeling that the detective knew exactly what was happening.

The door suddenly thudded and loud voices were heard on the other side of the wall. "Serbians, John. Their Serbians." Sherlock grunted and then the window budged, allowing the cold, crisp wind to whip into the room, sending flurries of snow across the floor and on the two men.

"I'm certain they're here for me. Now…" Sherlock stepped to the side and held his arms as to present the magnificent window. "Go on."

"No," John replied simply, still holding his gun. "I'm not jumping out of a three-story window! That's suicide!"

"Staying here is suicide, I assure you. There's two feet of snow at the bottom and I think I may see a shrub. Your chances of survival are much higher than getting shot twenty times in the chest." Sherlock lifted one foot onto the window sill.

"Sherlock!" John reached his arm out and cried his partner's name, but the figure still dressed in his pajamas disappeared.

John remained still, shocked. He couldn't believe that idiot actually jumped. But as the banging on the door got louder, and the chair started to give, John swallowed the lump in his throat, ran to the window, squeezed his eyes shut, and leapt.

* * *

><p><em>Translations:<em>

Kunem se, ako ste me lagao! – "I swear, if you've lied to me…"

Detektiv stanuje ovde. To je sigurno. – "The detective lives here. That's for certain."

Ne bih lagao , mladog šefe. – "I would not lie to you, young chief."

Čujem ga ! Gore! – "I hear him! Upstairs!"


End file.
